


Waking Up Pain First

by eternaleponine



Series: Ghosts That We Knew [20]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Deleted Scene, Gen, Past Sexual Assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 14:43:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1692074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternaleponine/pseuds/eternaleponine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five vignettes that occur at various points in/around/before the story told in <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/531381/chapters/942536">Ghosts That We Knew</a> and <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/951779/chapters/1861493">Time For A Sign</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waking Up Pain First

"Easy, Bobbi. Don't try to sit up just yet. Just relax."

She felt a gentle pressure on her shoulder, pushing her back against the pillow, and then a much heavier pressure, like... like elephant sitting on her chest pressure... and it drove the air out of her lungs in a gasp.

"W..." Her lips formed the shape but no sound followed. She swallowed, and her mother – she could move her eyes and see that it was her mother – spooned a few ice chips into her mouth. She sucked on them, working her tongue, trying to work up to trying again.

Deep breath. An elephant and a half, maybe. "What?" Breathe in again. Why was this so much work? It shouldn't be so much work. "Happened?" 

"You're all right now," her mother told her, stroking her hair in a way that was more annoying than comforting. She was a person, not a pet. She tried to turn away from it, but it would have required a lot more movement than she was capable of to escape. "That's what matters. You're going to be fine."

She was in a hospital. The smell told her that, and the beeping of machines. The last thing she remembered was the soccer field, and the world going black. "Ben?" Her brother. He would tell her what had happened.

"He's at home. I didn't think..." But the thought trailed off, and Bobbi didn't figure it was worth the energy to ask what her mother didn't think, considering that she would probably just dodge the question anyway. "He'll be happy to hear that you're awake."

"Mm," Bobbi agreed, and closed her eyes, letting darkness drag her down again.

\+ + + + +

_I want my mama._

No she didn't. She didn't want her mama because this was her fault, and the only reason she should want her here was so that she could see how she'd made her daughter, her only daughter, her only child, suffer.

Not that she'd ever cared about that. Suffering was good for the soul. It built character. Jesus had suffered. They were the chosen people and they suffered persecution every day. By the government. By the unenlightened people that surrounded them, so they kept themselves apart. 

_It hurts because Eve disobeyed the orders of God. This is why you must do as you're told, Jessica. You must always do as you're told._

That's what her mother had told her, the first time she'd bled. 

What would she say now? 

Tears filled her eyes and spilled over, soaking into her pillow. They hadn't been able to tell her how bad it would be, how long it would last, anything really because, "It's different for every woman." 

_They just don't want to scare me,_ she'd thought. _But it won't be that bad,_ she'd thought, because it was her choice, and she wanted it this way, and she would just be relieved.

A little pain was worth it. Wasn't it?

A little pain, a tiny death, so that she would have a chance at life.

She curled her knees up toward her chest, rocking herself and breathing in, out...

_Please._

_Please, God._

_God..._

_No. Damn it._

_Damn it, her, him, all of them, even God, damn them all to Hell._

_It hurts, Mama. I hope you're happy._

But it was worth it.

It had to be.

\+ + + + +

"Fuck," Carol groaned, squeezing her eyes shut against the light that flooded in through her open window. She'd forgotten to draw the curtains. Had she been watching the stars last night? Outside... hadn't she been outside? Maybe she hadn't been outside. "Fuuuuuck."

She rolled out of bed, banging her elbow and knee in the process and unleashing another string of profanity. Good thing Dad couldn't hear. It wasn't lady-like. She wasn't a lady.

She drank like a fish and swore like a sailor but her eyes were on the skies, always. Almost always. Not now. Now she kept her eyes shut tight, waiting for a wave of dizziness to pass, hoping that it didn't make its way downward, because someone was in the shower and she couldn't be sick in the sink.

It passed. She didn't puke. Score one for the home team.

Coffee? 

Coffee. And toast. Maybe. Probably. 

She stumbled into the kitchen, glad to find it empty so no one would notice how uncoordinated she was. At least she didn't break anything. 

"You look like shit," Steve said, standing close and he was lucky that she didn't spill coffee all over him. He took the pot from her hand to pour his own. 

"I just woke up. What's your excuse?" 

He leaned in, sniffed her, recoiled. "Where were you last night?"

"Out. Where were you?" 

"You have a problem."

She didn't need a lecture from her little brother. It was bad enough that he was their father's great hope or whatever. She didn't need him trying to go all parental. 

"I'm fine," she said, glaring at him. "Leave it."

"I'm serious. You—"

"So am I." She took her coffee and toast and went out to the porch to stare at the sky.

\+ + + + +

The pain in his head was so intense he couldn't think straight. For a minute, Clint thought he'd gone blind, before he realized that no, he just hadn't opened his eyes yet. They felt glued shut, and he reached up to unstick them, only to find that his head was wrapped in bandages. His eyes shot open then, and he tore them away, suppressing a yelp when they seemed to pull away skin with them.

He yanked at the tubes and wires that kept him tethered to the bed, and he'd nearly disentangled himself when the door popped open. A woman in bright pink pants and a top that appeared to be printed with rainbow-colored cats waved her hands at him. Her mouth was moving, but no words were coming out.

She got closer, and he tried to figure out a path past her. She was short and chunky, so she was probably not that fast. He was definitely faster... but he wasn't wearing any pants. Where were his clothes? 

"Where the fuck are my goddamn clothes?" he demanded, but it sounded funny. That was not his voice. The nurse – it had to be a nurse – said something back but he couldn't hear it.

He couldn't hear anything.

He slammed his hand against his ear, trying to make it work, but it did nothing but send a wave of pain through him. "What's going on?" he demanded. "What the fuck is wrong with me?"

The nurse made a soothing gesturing, stroking the air like she wanted to pat him on the shoulder or something but didn't want to get close enough to touch him. It turned to a push that, despite the fact that it made no contact, pushed him back toward the bed, or at least the wall.

The doctor held up a tablet – electronic, not the paper kind – and Clint had to squint to read the words: You were in an accident. Your ear drums were damaged and you have suffered hearing loss. We will need to run tests to assess the extent. We need you to get back in bed and try to remain calm.

He sat back on the bed, in no small part because his bare ass was hanging out for the world to see, but he was anything but calm.

\+ + + + + 

Her room smelled of sex and violence.

Her stomach rolled, and she rolled with it, out of bed and stumbling toward the bathroom, her fingers shaped into claws as she groped at the door, twisted the knob and crashed inside, landing on the tiles in front of the toilet. She coughed once, and then it was all coming up. 

The force of it drove tears to her eyes and the acid burn made her nose run. She forced herself up onto her knees and turned on the shower, hot to warm her up because she was Russian winter cold, colder even than that night when she'd possibly (probably) tried to die and Clint had shown up and made sure she didn't, had fought her for her life because she couldn't be trusted with it in that moment and he thought it was still worth something even when she didn't.

And the thought of him brought her back again. She turned up the temperature hotter still to burn everything else away. 

Her knees wouldn't hold her so she just sat on the floor of the tub and let the water flow over her, washing away snot and sick and blood and tears. She tipped her head back and let the water fill her mouth, rinsed, spit, did it again. 

Everything hurt, and he'd forgotten his rule about not leaving marks where anyone could see them, or maybe he just figured it was winter and she would be a good girl and make sure to keep them covered. Maybe he hadn't been thinking at all, except about showing her who her body actually belonged to.

Wrists, ribs, the insides of her thighs. Her jaw ached. Her throat felt raw.

She pulled herself up and she could feel him everywhere still. _Everywhere._ She tried to breathe in, tried to steady herself, force her thoughts back into order but the world spun and took her down again. She coughed up bile, spat it out.

Out. She had to get out. Out of the shower, out of this place... forever, but she would start with today. She turned off the water, sat on the edge of the tub to brush her teeth so she wouldn't have to look at herself in the mirror. Back to her room to get dressed, and she focused on one point of light in the darkness that wanted so desperately to drag her down: Clint would understand. Somehow, he would understand, and he would take the pain away.


End file.
